Sweeney Buffy?
by Ceresxthexstar
Summary: The tragic story of Sweeney Todd is retold by the characters of Buffy. Featuring Eliza Buffy as Sweeney Todd, William (Spike) Pratt as Mrs. Lovett, Faith Lehane as Judge Turpin as well as many other memorable characters
1. No Place like London

Willow, a young sailor of about 20, is standing at the rail of a ship, The obscure shape of rigging and sails is seen behind her. The cries of sailors echo in the distance. Behind her stand a gentleman and a banker. They are looking past Willow, looking at something. They move away as Willow peers through the fog, straining to see...

London.

Gradually, as the ship approaches, the towering spires and mountainous rooftops of the city begin to stand out in relief, to emerge through the fog like a tiger creeping toward its continues as Willow takes in the dreadful and magnificent spectacle of the 19th Century metropolis. The gnarl of rooftops. The labyrinth of streets and alleys. The black trails of smoke reaching up like skeletal fingers from  
a thousand chimneys.

London. Sulfurous London.

Willow is awestruck.

_Willow_

_"I have sailed the world, beheld its wonders_

_From the Dardanelles_

_To the mountains of Peru,_

_But there's no place like London-!"_

Then-

_Buffy_

__"No, there's no place like London."__

"Miss Buffy...?"

_Buffy_

__"You are young. ____Life has been kind to you. ____You will learn."__

Buffy glares forward, her haunted gaze never leaving the approaching city. Music continues as Buffy stands very still and takes in the shadowy figures on the docks. Willow seems almost lost at her side, overwhelmed by the scale and aura of the city. Willow speaks out of amazement, "Lord ... takes your breath away, doesn't it?" Buffy shudders violently, almost snarling.

_Buffy_

_"There's a hole in the world_

_Like a great black pit_

_And the vermin of the world_

_Inhabit it_

_And its morals aren't worth_

_What a pig could spit_

_And it goes by the name Of London._

_At the top of the hole_

_Sit the privileged few_

_Making mock of the vermin_

_In the lower zoo,_

_Turning beauty into filth and greed._

_I too_

_Have sailed the world, and seen its wonders_

_For the cruelty of men_

_Is as wondrous as Peru,_

_But there's no place like London!"_

Willow looks at her friend, mystified by her grim reaction to the city. Buffy suddenly breaks the silence "I beg your indulgence, Willow ... My mind is far from easy. In these once familiar streets I feel shadows everywhere..." "Shadows...?" "Ghosts." Dawn looking at her, questioning. Buffy continues quietly:

_Buffy_

_"There was a barber and her mate,_

_And he was beautiful,_

_A foolish barber and her mate,_

_He was her reason and her life,_

_And he was beautiful,_

_And he was virtuous._

_And she was..._

_Naive_."

Willow watches, rapt, as Buffy remembers...

...Fifteen years before.

Buffy walks with her handsome husband Angel through a crowded flower market, a colorful explosion of blossoms. Angel carries their one-year-old baby, Tara. Buffy is almost unrecognizable to us, content and smiling. Chatting with her husband. Happy.

_Buffy (V.O.)_

__"There was another one who saw__

__That he was beautiful,__

__A pious vulture of the law,__

__Who with a gesture of her claw__

__Removed the barber from her plate.__

__Then there was nothing but to wait __

__And he would fall,__

__So soft,__

__So young,__

__So lost,__

__And oh, so beautiful!"__

During the above, Judge Lehane, an elderly woman with a saturnine demeanor, eyes Angel through the luxurious bunches of flowers. She stalks him, desiring him. With the Judge is her nefarious creature, Beadle Warren. The Beadle is a large man, his florid nature and pink, powdered face never quite disguising his legality. The Judge whispers to the Beadle, indicating Buffy. Then the Beadle and several policemen sweep in and drag Buffy off. The Judge moves in on Angel like a predator. And we return to...

"And the gentleman, ma'am ... did he succumb?" Willow says.

_Buffy_

__"Oh, that was many years ago...____I doubt if anyone would know."__

The ship docks, and passengers leave; scattering to the ends of London like rats. "I owe you my life, Willow. If you hadn't spotted me, I would be lost on the ocean still ... Thank you." Buffy picks up her duffel bag, preparing to go. "Will I see you again?" "You might find me, if you like, around Fleet Street." "Until then, my friend." She offers her hand. Buffy takes it and shakes. Then Buffy quickly turns and goes. Willow stands for a moment, saddened by the mysterious pall that hangs over her friend. Buffy strides along, deep in thought. The emotions roiling within her finally seethe out in a dark mutter:

_Buffy_

__"There's a hole in the world__

__Like a great black pit__

__And it's filled with people __

__Who are filled with shit __

__And the vermin of the world __

__Inhabit it..."__

She disappears down the street as the music THUNDERS-


	2. The Worst Pies in London

**Did a bit of remastering, but I should have everything put together now**

* * *

Zooming ahead of Buffy - cutting through the city at lightning pace down twisting alleys and up crowded boulevards - into tunnels and over bridges - slashing through London at breakneck speed - the insane explosion of music sending us hurtling to-

Fleet Street.

The exterior of Mr. Pratt's pie shop is seen. It is tatty and unloved by all. Yet it has a strange, ghostly presence to it. Imposing and dead at the same time. There is an exterior staircase leading up to a darkened second floor room with a window overlooking the street. The music slows and continues as we see Buffy, standing in front of the shop, considering it deeply. The general we saw before passes, glancing at Buffy. Here and then gone. Buffy finally strides to the shop and enters...

Behind the dusty counter is... Mr. Pratt, a venal, vigorous and slatternly man in his 30's. He is currently busy chopping a loathsome mess of suet with a wicked looking knife, his bleached hair combed out of his face. The moment Buffy enters - and the bell at the door sounds - his head snaps up and his eyes are on her like a bird of prey: "A customer!" Buffy, startled, starts to go-

_Mr. Pratt_

__"Wait! __

__What's yer rush? __

__What's yer hurry?"__

__(He sticks the knife into ____the counter)__

__"You gave me such a-__

__(Wipes his hands on his ____apron) )__

__Fright. __

__I thought you was a ghost.__

__Half a minute, can'tcher? __

__Sit! __

__Sit ye down!"____(An order)__

_"Sit!"_

_(She obeys)_

_"All I meant is that I_

__Haven't seen a customer for weeks.__

__Did you come here for a pie, ma'am?"__

__(Buffy nods. He flicks a ____bit of dust off a pie ____with a rag)__

__"Do forgive me if me head's a little vague-____Ugh!"__

__(He plucks something off ____the pie, examines it)__

__"What is that?__

__But you'd think we had the plague-"__

__(He drops it on the floor ____and stamps on it)__

_"From the way that people-_

__(He flicks something off ____the pie with his finger) __

__Keep avoiding-____(Spotting it moving)__

__No, you don't!"__

__(He smacks it with his ____hand)__

__"Heaven knows I try, ma'am!__

__(Lifts his hand, looks at ____it)__

__Tsk!"__

__(He wipes it on the edge ____of the counter)__

__"But there's no one comes in even to inhale-__

_"Tsk!_

__(He blows the last dust ____off the pie as he brings ____it to her)__

__Right you are, ma'am. __

__Would you like a drop of ale?"__

__(Buffy nods)____"Mind you,__

__ I can't hardly blame them-____(Pouring a tankard of ale)__

__These are probably the worst pies in London.__

__I know why nobody cares to take them-__

__I should know, __

__I make them. __

__But good? __

__No,____The worst pies in London-__

__Even that's polite.__

__The worst pies in London-__

__If you doubt it, take a bite."__

__(She does. It's horrible)__

__"Is that just disgusting?__

__You have to concede it.__

__It's nothing but crusting-__

__Here, drink this, you'll need it-__

__(He gives her the ale)__

__The worst pies in London."__

During the following, he slams lumps of dough on the counter and rolls them out, grunting frequently as he goes:

_Mr. Pratt_

__"And no wonder with the price of meat__

__What it is-____(Grunt)__

__When you get it.____(Grunt)__

__Never____(Grunt)__

__Thought I'd live to see the day __

__Men'd think it was a treat__

__Finding poor____(Grunt)__

__Animals____(Grunt)__

__Wot are dying in the street.__

__Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop,__

__Does a business, but I noticed something weird-__

__Lately all her neighbors' cats have disappeared.__

__(Shrugs)____Have to hand it to her-__

__Wot I calls ____Wouldn't do in my shop-__

__Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick.__

__Enterprise,__

__Popping pussies into pies. "__

_"And I'm telling you them pussy cats is quick._

__(Leans on counter, ____exhausted)__

__No denying times is hard, miss - __

__Even harder than__

__The worst pies in London.__

__Only lard and nothing more-__

__(As Buffy gamely tries ____another mouthful)__

__Is that just revolting?__

__All greasy and gritty,__

__It looks like it's molting,__

__And tastes like-__

__Well, pity__

__A woman alone__

__With limited wind__

__And the worst pies in London!__

__(Sighs heavily)__

__Ah ma'am,__

__Times is hard. __

__Times is hard."__

He finishes one of the crusts with a flourish as the music ends. Buffy, meanwhile, is gulping at her ale, trying to wash down Mr. Pratt's hideous creation. William looks towards Buffy, "Trust me, pet, it's going to take more than ale to wash that taste out. Come with me and we'll get you a nice tumbler of gin. He leads her through the curtains at the back of the pie shop and into his parlor is a wonder of seedy faux-middle class Victoriana. Little knickknacks, dusty plants and dingy doilies. There is a threadbare mauve sofa in front of a comfortable fire. A faded picture postcard of the seaside hangs on a wall. He goes to a sideboard and pours her a huge glass of gin as: "Isn't this homey now? Me cheery wallpaper was a real bargain too, it being only partly singed when the chapel burnt down ..." He hands her the gin. She gulps it down, washing the taste of his pie out of her mouth. "There's a good girl, now you sit down and warm your bones, you look chilled through."

She sits before the fire; "Isn't that a room over the shop? If times are so hard, why don't you rent it out?" He glances up at the roof, considering the room over them. "Up there? Oh, no one will go near it..." He turns to her, something a little intense and probing about his gaze. "People think it's haunted." "Haunted?" He holds her gaze. William pauses before saying, "And who's to say they're wrong? ... You see, years ago, something happened up there. Something not very nice..."

The flickering flame from the fire begins to cast a more intense red glow on his face...

_Mr. Pratt_

__"There was a barber and her mate,__

__And she was beautiful,__

__A proper artist with a knife,__

__But they transported her for life.__

__(Sighs)____And she was beautiful..."__

The music continues as he looks at her, again with that rather intense gaze: "Summers, her name was - Elizabeth Summers." "Transported? What was her crime?" With an edge in his voice, "Foolishness." He turns again to the fire, the red glow bathing his face as he remembers... Angel is pacing, holding Baby Tara to him closely. Angel is distraught, strained, tears in his eyes. As Angel paces we notice the room is full of dead and dying flowers: dozens of dried bouquets tossed aside and ignored.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_

__"She had this man,____you see, __

__Pretty little thing, __

__Silly little nit__

__Had his chance for the moon on a string-__

__Poor thing. Poor thing."__

_"Ah, but there was worse yet to come, _

__Poor thing."__

Angel moves to the window, looks out. He sees Judge Lehane and the Beadle waiting below. The Judge holds yet another bouquet.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_

__"There was this Judge, you see,__

__Wanted him like mad,__

__Every day she'd send him a flower,__

__But did he come down from his tower?__

__Sat up there and sobbed by the hour,__

__Poor fool."__

Angel moves away from the window, anger evident.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_

__"Ah, but there was worse yet to come, __

__Poor thing."__

The Beadle is leading a nervous Angel along an exclusive street of dark stone mansions, grand but somehow menacing. Angel is wearing his best suit.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_

__"The Beadle calls on him, all polite,__

__Poor thing, poor thing.__

__The Judge, he tells him, is all contrite,__

__She blames herself for his dreadful plight__

__He must come straight to her house tonight!__

__Poor thing, poor thing."__

The Beadle ushers Angel into a ballroom. He is shocked to see a fancy-dress ball in progress. Masked couples swirl around the ballroom, their number sinisterly multiplied by the distorting mirrors that frame the room. The hanging chandeliers, draped in red cloth, cast a disquieting incarnadine glow on the proceedings...

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_

__"Of course, when he goes there,__

__Poor thing, poor thing,__

__They're having this ball all in masks."__

Angel wanders lost through the swirling dancers, they buffet him, confusing him...

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_

__"There's no one he knows there,__

__Poor dear, poor thing,__

__He wanders tormented, and drinks,__

__Poor thing.__

__The Judge has repented, he thinks,__

__Poor thing.__

__"Oh, where is Judge Lehane?" he asks."__

The Beadle finds Angel again and graciously gives him his arm, leading him through the party. He is thankful for the salvation he provides. He brings him to Judge Lehane.

The Judge descends on Angel, raping him. The other guests crowd around ravenously, enjoying the spectacle. A feverish nightmare.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_

__"She was there, all right-__

__Only not so contrite!__

__He wasn't no match for such craft, you see,__

_And everyone thought it so droll._

_They figured she had to be daft, you see,_

_So all of 'em stood there and laughed, you see,_

_Poor soul!_

_Poor thing!"_

"NOOOOOOOO...!"

Buffy's wild howl shatters the memory and tears us back to-

-Buffy is bolting up from the sofa, tormented-

"... NOOOOOO!" She stands for a terrible beat. "Would no one have mercy on him?"

"So it is you - Elizabeth Summers." "Where's Angel?! Where's my husband?!" Buffy inquires. A grim look paints William's face, "He poisoned himself. Arsenic from the apothecary on the corner. I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen to me. And she's got your daughter." "She? Judge Lehane?"

"Adopted her like her own."

Buffy absorbs this sickening news. "Fifteen years of sweating in a living hell on a false charge. Fifteen years dreaming that I might come home to find a loving husband and child..." A beat as she stares into the fire, madness and purpose creeping in.

"Well, I can't say the years have been particularly kind to you, Miss Summers, but you still-"

"No, not Summers. That woman is dead. It's Buffy now. Eliza Buffy ... And she will have her revenge."

She continues with a chilling and quiet resolve as she stares with unblinking eyes into the fire: "Judge Lehane and the Beadle will pay for what they did." A beat. She finally turns to him.

She states is a matter of fact tone, "First I must have my shop back."


	3. My Friends

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sweeney Todd or Buffy the vampire Slayer. Angel's role as Lucy was kind of comical. I'm not saying rape is funny at all; but just the fact that the real Angel wouldn't be sobbing or even allow anyone to treat him that way is what made me laugh. While writing this I pictured Angel and Spike to be watching this play. Angel was having irritated face while Spike was laughing up a storm.**

* * *

They emerge from the pie shop. He begins to scale the exterior staircase to the darkened second floor room. She hesitates.

"Come along..."

He continues up, she slowly follows. A macabre shroud of dust and spider's webs. Furniture covered in sheets. A broken mirror on one wall.

We hear footsteps approaching and then Mr. Pratt enters. The door creaks like a living thing. "Not to worry, a touch of oil will put that right." He turns to Buffy, "... Nothing to be afraid of, love, come in."

He moves into the room. But Buffy hesitates at the door, looking into the room. For her this is a truly haunted place.

Meanwhile, he kneels and pries loose a floorboard. Underneath there is a hidden area. Within that, something covered with a velvet cloth. He removes it and carefully unwraps it. His touch is particularly gentle and respectful. We discover it is a fine leather case. He looks at it for a beat. Then turns to her, dusting it off.

"I don't believe it..."

Buffy finally steps into the room, drawn toward the case.

"When they came for the boy, I hid 'em. I thought, who knows? Maybe the silly blighter'll be back again. Cracked in the head, wasn't I?"

Haunting music begins as he opens the case... And we see it contains a beautiful set of razors. She stands for a long moment, gazing down at her beloved razors.

"Those handles is chased silver, ain't they?" Mr. Pratt gawks.

"Silver, yes..."

_Buffy_  
_"These are my friends,_  
_See how they glisten._  
_(She picks up a small _  
_razor)_  
_See this one shine,_  
_How he smiles in the light._  
_My friend, my faithful friend._  
_(Holding it to her ear, _  
_feeling the edge with her _  
_thumb) )_  
_Speak to me friend, _  
_Whisper, I'll listen._  
_(Listening)_  
_I know, I know-_  
_You've been locked out of sight _  
_All these years-_  
_Like me, my friend. _  
_Well, I've come home _  
_To find you waiting."_

_"Home,_  
_And we're together, _  
_And we'll do wonders, _  
_Won't we?"_

Mr. Pratt leans over her, in his own kind of trance as well. They now sing simultaneously:

_Buffy_  
_(Picking out a larger _  
_razor)_  
_"You there, my friend,_  
_Come, let me hold you._  
_Now, with a sigh _  
_You grow warm _  
_In my hand, _  
_My friend,_  
_My clever friend._  
_(Putting it back)_  
_Rest now, my friends._  
_Soon I'll unfold you._  
_Soon you'll know splendors_  
_You never have dreamed_  
_All your days-"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"I'm your friend too, Miss Buffy. _  
_If you only knew, Miss Buffy-_  
_Ooh, Miss Buffy, _  
_You're warm _  
_In my hand._  
_You've come home._  
_Always had a fondness for you,_  
_I did."_

_Buffy_  
_"-My lucky friends. _  
_Till now your shine _  
_Was merely silver. _  
_Friends,_  
_You shall drip rubies, _  
_You'll soon drip precious _  
_Rubies..."_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Never you fear, Miss Buffy,_  
_You can move in here, Miss Buffy. _  
_Splendors you never have dreamed _  
_All your days _  
_Will be yours. _  
_I'm your friend."_

_And you're mine._  
_Don't they shine beautiful? _  
_Silver's good enough for me, _  
_Miss Buffy..."_

The music continues quietly as Buffy stares at one of her razors.

"Leave me now..."

William goes. Buffy finally picks up her biggest razor and slowly opens it, looks at it.

"At last my arm is complete again!"

And she remains standing. Exalted.

Buffy pulls a sheet off Baby Frederick's cradle. A cloud of dust rises. The ghosts disappear in the cloud of dust and Buffy stands alone, staring at the cradle, holding her razor.

"I wonder who the real monsters are."

* * *

Willow, now out of her sailor's uniform, is walking along the sidewalk near the Judge's mansion, absorbed in a copy of Baedeker's London. She stops, lost, trying to get her bearings, studying her map.

Then an unusual sound emerges through the normal cosmopolitan bustle. It is the sound of a woman humming. She looks up to see...

Tara, a 16-year-old girl with blonde hair, beautiful and hauntingly sad. She sits at her window above, behind bars, humming to herself as he knits.

Willow watches her, absolutely mesmerized.

Tara notices a Bird Seller passing. He carries a long, wooden pole with little bird cages attached.

_Tara_  
_"Green finch and linnet bird,_  
_Nightingale, blackbird,_  
_How is it you sing?_  
_How can you jubilate,_  
_Sitting in cages,_  
_Never taking wing?_  
_Outside the sky waits,_  
_Beckoning, beckoning,_  
_Just beyond the bars._  
_How can you remain,_  
_Staring at the rain,_  
_Maddened by the stars?_  
_How is it you sing_  
_Anything?_  
_How is it you sing?"_

Then ... she sees Tara on the sidewalk below.

Music continues. There is a long look between them. Her intense, melancholy expression moves her. She continues singing, the strange anguish and yearning of  
her words seem intended only for her...

_Tara_  
_"My cage has many rooms,_  
_Damask and dark._  
_Nothing there sings,_  
_Not even my lark._  
_Larks never will, you know,_  
_When they're captive."_

_Teach me to be more adaptive._  
_Green finch and linnet bird,_  
_Nightingale, blackbird,_  
_Teach me how to sing._  
_If I cannot fly,_  
_Let me sing."_

Then she turns away quickly, alarmed, when someone enters her room. She looks terrified. Below, Willow is concerned for her. She sees her move from the window.

She is craning to see better when a beggar man - a filthy tendril of a man, his foul clothes of rags like a second skin - suddenly thrusts his arm up from the curb, imploring:

_BEGGAR MAN_  
_"Alms! ... Alms! ..._  
_For a miserable man_  
_On a miserable chilly morning..._  
_(Willow drops a coin into _  
_his hand)_  
_Thank yer, ma'am, thank yer."_

"Ma'am, could tell me whose house this is?" Willow questions.

"That's the great Judge Lehane's house that is."

"And the young lass who resides there?"

"That's Tara, her pretty little ward. Keeps her snug, she does, all locked up ... So don't you go trespassing there or it's a good whipping for you - or any other young man with mischief on his mind..."

He suddenly leers into a lewd and demented assault:

_BEGGAR MAN_  
_"'Ow would you like a little muff, dear,_  
_A little jig jig_  
_A little bounce around the bush? _  
_Wouldn't you like to push me parsley?_

_It looks to me, dear,_  
_Like you got plenty there to push."_

He grabs at Willow's crotch - Willow starts back - he turns away, instantly plaintive again, and appeals to other pedestrians as he goes:

_BEGGAR MAN_  
_"Alms! ... Alms!..._  
_For a desperate man..."_

Willow considers the mansion. She sees a figure standing at a window, unclear behind the shutters, watching her.

She sits on a bench outside the mansion and sings quietly:

_Willow_  
_"I feel you,_  
_Tara,_  
_I feel you._  
_I was half convinced I'd waken, _  
_Satisfied enough to dream you. _  
_Happily I was mistaken, Tara!_  
_I'll steal you,_  
_Tara,_  
_I'll steal you..."_

Then the figure disappears from the window above. Willow stands, waits. Then the doors to the mansion swing open...

Willow is expecting Tara...

But it is Judge Lehane, the predator we met in Buffy's flashback, who steps into the doorway. She seems a different woman now. Paternal and warm, she smiles and beckons to Willow.

Dawn hesitates, unsure. The Judge beckons again. Again the warm smile.

"Come in, lass. Come in..."

Willow goes into the mansion.

* * *

**I'm sorry that Angel is so out of character; but since he was Buffy's first love and I wanted to focus on how vengeful she would've become over her love for Angel. Also, I suggest listening to the songs when they come up. I know that helps when I read song fics.**


	4. Tara and the Mayor

**Just got back from Anime Detour this week, and oh my god it was so awesome! I got to meet so many beautiful people, and I'm definitely going to cosplay as Seras Victoria from Hellsing Ultimate next year! Now if you excuse me, I'm going to read all the manga I bought.**

* * *

Judge Faith Lehane leads Willow into the dark library, filled with books. Willow is looking around for Tara. She is wary, this is all very strange.

"... you were looking for Hyde Park, you say?" The Judge inquired. "Yes, it's terribly large on the map but I keep getting lost..."

"Sit down, lass, sit down."

Willow sits, uncomfortable, as the Judge pours two snifters of brandy. "It's embarrassing for a sailor to lose their bearings, but, well, there you are."

Then...

The large form of the Beadle appears from the shadows. No introduction is made. Dawn glances to him, uneasy.

"A sailor, eh?" Faith says.

"Yes, ma'am. The "Bountiful" out of Plymouth."

Handing her a snifter of brandy,

"A sailor must know the ways of the world, yes? ... Must be practiced in the ways of the world ... Would you say you are practiced, girl?"

"Ma'am?" Willow asks.

The Judge moves to consider some beautiful volumes, bound in the richest leather. She runs a finger along the spines of the books; her large library of pornography. "Oh, yes ... such practices ... the geishas of Japan ... the concubines of Siam .. the catamites of Greece ... the harlots of India ... I have them all here ... Drawings of them ..." Faith speaks dreamily. She turns again to Willow.

"... All the vile things you've done as a two cent whore"

Willow is speechless. The Judge just smiles at her amiably. "Would you like to see?"

"I think there's been some mistake-" Willow says, now standing.

"Oh, I think not. You gandered at my ward, Tara ... You gandered at her ... Yes, lass, you** gandered**."

The Beadle moves behind Tara. She was glancing nervously back at the Beadle,"I meant no harm-" "Your meaning is immaterial. Mark me: if I see your face again on this street, you'll rue the day your bitch of a mother gave you birth." Willow is stunned. The Judge proceeds with shocking venom:

"My Tara isn't one of your bloody cock-chafers! My Tara** is not to be ****gandered at!" **She nods to the Beadle - the Beadle instantly grabs Willow and brutally hauls her out.

* * *

The Beadle drags Willow through a rear door of the mansion and flings her into a filthy alley.

Willow pulls herself up. Stunned.

"Hyde Park is that way, young miss ... A right and then a left, then straight on, you see? ..." He points, "... Over there."

Flustered, Willow turns to look-

The instant Willow's back is turned, the Beadle swings his lethal billyclub and SLAMS her from behind brutally, in the kidneys - Willow's knees buckle-  
The Beadle then SLAMS Willow across the back of the neck -She falls hard-The Beadle then uses one dainty foot to roll her over-Willow gazes up at him, panting for breath, in agony-

"You heard Judge Lehane, little girl." He presses the end of his billyclub into Willow's forehead, grinding it hard- "Next time it'll be your pretty brains all over the pavement." With that, the Beadle returns to the mansion and slams the door.

Willow slowly pulls herself to her knees, doubled over, coughing up blood. A long beat as Willow gets her breath, wiping blood from her face.

Still doubled over, she sings with burning intensity:

_Willow_  
_"I'll steal you,_  
_Tara,_  
_I'll steal you!_  
_Do they think that walls can hide you? _  
_Even now I'm at your window. _  
_I am in the dark beside you,_  
_Buried sweetly in your yellow hair."_

She pulls herself up, every movement is agony. She makes her way down the alley, leaning on the wall for support. The music swells as Willow emerges from the dark alley into the bright sunlight. She makes her way along the sidewalk:

_Willow_  
_"I feel you, Tara, _  
_And one day I'll steal you._  
_Till I'm with you then,_  
_I'm with you there,_  
_Sweetly buried in your yellow hair..."_

The soaring music continues as Willow stops at a park across the street from Lehane's mansion, bravely gazing up at Tara's window.

* * *

Eliza Buffy and Mr. Pratt are moving quickly, she struggles to keep up with his long, loping stride. She carries her razor case, he carries a shopping basket.

"He's here every Thursday?" Buffy asks.

"Like clockwork. Eyetalian. All the rage he is."

"Not for long."

They round a corner and move into the bustling marketplace. A steady mercantile hum as the cries of merchants and wandering coster-mongers fill the air. Buffy and Mr. Pratt move toward a hand-drawn caravan dominating one corner of the marketplace. It is painted like a Sicilian donkey cart and on its side a sign declaims:

"Signor Richard Wilkins - Haircutter to His Royal Majesty the King of Naples."

"Oh Miss B., do you really think you can do it?"

"By tomorrow they'll all be flocking to me like sheep to be shorn-"

She stops abruptly when she sees the Beadle casually strolling through the crowd. Buffy is transfixed, her ancient enemy so close. William sees the Beadle, and tugs on Buffy's arm.

"Come along now, pet, he might recognize you-"

"I will do what I have vowed to do ..." She continues to glare at the Beadle, her voice low, "... Come closer, my friend, closer..."

Then, Dawn - a 13-year-old girl, a bit small for her age, malnourished and consumptively pale - emerges from Wilkins' caravan. She bangs on a tin drum, drawing customers. A crowd begins to gather at the caravan as:

_Dawn_  
_"Ladies and gentlemen!_  
_May I have your attention, perlease?_  
_Do you wake every morning in shame and despair _  
_To discover your pillow is covered with hair _  
_Wot ought not to be there?_  
_Well, ladies and gentlemen,_  
_From now on you can waken at ease._  
_You need never again have a worry or care, _  
_I will show you a miracle marvelous rare, _  
_Gentlemen, you are about to see something wot rose _  
_from the dead!"_  
_(A woman gasps, she smiles _  
_and wiggles a finger no)_  
_"On the top of my head."_

She dramatically doffs her cap, revealing mountains of hair which cascade to her shoulder.

_Dawn_  
_"'Twas Willy's_  
_Miracle Elixir,_  
_That's wot did the trick, sir, _  
_True, sir, true. _  
_Was it quick, sir?_  
_Did it in a tick, sir? _  
_Just like an elixir _  
_Ought to do!_  
_(To a Bald Man)_  
_How about a bottle, mister?_  
_Only costs a penny, guaranteed."_  
_(Pours a drop on the bald _  
_man's head)_

_"Does Willy's_  
_Stimulate the growth, sir? _  
_You can have my oath, sir, _  
_'Tis unique._  
_(Applies the bald man's _  
_hand to the wet spot)_  
_Rub a minute, _  
_Stimulatin', i'n it?_

_Soon you'll have to thin it_  
_Once a week!"_

More customers are stepping up and buying bottles. Buffy opens a bottle of the Elixir, takes a whiff. Disgusting. She smiles to Mr. Pratt, her plan falling into place.

_Buffy_  
_(loudly, to Mr. Pratt)_  
_"Pardon me, sir, what's that awful stench?"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Are we standing near an open trench?"_

_Buffy_  
_(to a woman in the crowd)_  
_"Must be standing near an open trench!"_

The crowd responds to Buffy and Mr. Pratt, looking askance and sniffing at the bottles. Dawn nervously tries to distract them:

_Dawn_  
_"Buy Willy's Miracle Elixir: _  
_Anything wot's slick, sir, _  
_Soon sprouts curls. _  
_Try Willy's!_  
_When they see how thick, sir, _  
_You can have your pick, sir, _  
_Of the girls!_  
_Want to buy a bottle, missus?"_

_Buffy_  
_(sniffing bottle of _  
_Elixir)_  
_"What is this?"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_(sniffing another _  
_customer's bottle)_  
_"What is this?"_

_Buffy_  
_"Smells like piss"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Smells like - phew!"_

_Buffy_  
_"This is piss. Piss with ink."_

The music speeds up - Dawn is getting desperate:

_Dawn_  
_"Let Willy's_  
_Activate your roots, sir-"_

_Buffy_  
_"Keep it off your boots, sir-_  
_Eats right through."_

_Dawn_  
_"Yes, get Willy's!_  
_Use a bottle of it!_  
_Ladies seem to love it-"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Flies do too!"_

Suddenly, the curtains on the caravan are dramatically flung wide to reveal-

Wilkins, a flamboyant Italian with a velvet suit, thick wavy hair and a jolly smile. Wilkins poses splendidly for a moment. Then:

_Wilkins_  
_"I am Richard Wilkins,_  
_Da king of da barbers, da barber of kings, _  
_E buon giorno, good day, _  
_I blow you a kiss!"_  
_(he does so)_  
_"And I, da so-famous Willy,_  
_I wish-a to know-a_  
_Who has-a da nerve-a to say _  
_My elixir is piss! _  
_Who says this?!"_

Silence.

"I do." Buffy moves forward boldly.

"I am Miss Eliza Buffy of Fleet Street. I have opened a bottle of Wilkins' elixir, and I say to you that it is nothing but an arrant fraud, concocted from piss and ink."

The crowd gasps. Wilkins is about to respond, outraged, but Buffy continues-

"And furthermore - 'signor' - I have serviced no kings, yet I wager I can shave a cheek with ten times more dexterity that any street mountebank."

She snaps open her razor case and holds it up for the crowd to see, turning to display the wondrous razors:

"You see these razors?"

"The finest in England." William says to the crowd.

While glaring at Wilkins, "I lay them against five pounds you are no match for me. You hear me, sir? Either accept my challenge or reveal yourself as a sham."

* * *

**Yes. I know this was a truly lamentable place to stop, but I'm tired. **


End file.
